Stuck on You
by rainlightautumn
Summary: The consequences of Megatron's latest "super weapon" aren't what anyone would have expected. Being literally stuck with one another wouldn't be so bad if they didn't hate each other's diodes. Slash, ProwlxJazz.
1. An Explanation

**Word Count:** 1,143  
**AN:** This was inspired by snugsbunny's plot bunny over on the pj_paintstreaks lj community. If you're a fan of this pairing, which I am assuming you are since you are reading this story, you should head on over and take a look! If you have a journal, you should definitely join. We are small, but mighty! :D

Also, this bunny is nudging me insistently (read: mauling me) with the idea that it will turn into smut. So, fair warning, this may go up to an "M" rating.

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"So," Jazz started slowly, "What I hear you saying, and stop me if I'm wrong, is that _we_-" he motioned between himself and Prowl with his elbow, "-are stuck this way until _you_-" he motioned to Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Perceptor "-figure out how to get us unstuck."

Wheeljack nodded enthusiastically.

Ratchet felt the urge to run for cover.

"And about _how_ long should this take?"

Ratchet tensed and winced internally as Wheeljack spoke again. "Well, _about_ that..."

Prowl shifted slightly and chimed in. "_What_ about that?" He was obviously Not Amused.

Wheeljack's earfins flashed dimly. "Weeeell. Wedon'tknow."

There was a beat of silence. Perceptor, who had been uncharacteristically silent, spoke up nervously. "It is a matter of finding the proper strength of polarization required to negate the cohesive effect the magnetizer had upon your persons. Unfortunately, we do not have access to the weapon that actually caused such a unique reaction. I mean, stuck together not in one area, but capable of shifting the points of cohesion with extreme effort! It is _singular_!"

Throughout Perceptor's speech, Wheeljack and Ratchet had been tempted to tackle the microscope to the ground and beat the slag out of him. Ratchet's arm twitched and Wheeljack subtly grabbed the medic's hand.

Jazz and Prowl were silent for a few moments. Ratchet noticed that, though they were connected at awkward locations, (Jazz's hands were connected to the front of Prowl's chassis and Prowl's left thigh strut was stuck to Jazz's right hip. The _coup de grace_, however, was Prowl's hand attached to Jazz's aft. Sideswipe was sure to have a field day), they had somehow found a way to sit somewhat comfortably. Never mind that that position was Jazz straddling Prowl's lap. It would have been hilarious under any other circumstances (say, if Jazz and Prowl were in a room with no doors and he was observing through an unbreakable window. Or he was far away. Very, very far away.), but the second and third in command were known for their animosity towards one another. It seemed to be a matter of opposites repelling. Ironically, it always made Ratchet think of the effect of forcing opposite ends of two magnets together, but with more insults and sabotage.

"Look at the bright side!" Wheeljack attempted. "At least you aren't stuck to someone horrible. Like Sunstreaker!" The yellow Lamborghini, who was in the medbay recovering from damages sustained in the battle, made an objecting noise. At the deadpan looks he received from the two affected bots, the engineer tried again. "...or Megatron?" The silence continued and Wheeljack slumped in defeat. "Well, you could be dead."

Ratchet steeled himself. "Wheeljack's right. Things could be a lot worse. So suck it up and make do. We'll figure something out as soon as we can, but until then, you're stuck."

Jazz shifted slightly. "Okay, Ratch, I get that. But there're a few problems. Like how are we supposed to recharge?" The saboteur gestured with what he can move of his arms to illustrate his point.

Ratchet shrugged. "Share a berth."

Prowl had been fairly silent throughout the entire explanation, but made a small (and, dare Ratchet say, _panicked_) sound at this. Jazz spoke up again. "That's not really..." Ratchet's faceplates were shifting into "Shut Up or Face the Consequences" mode, so Jazz wisely changed track. "There's not a berth big enough for th' two of us."

Wheeljack's earfins flashed merrily. "Well, I can take care of that. We've got some pretty big 'bots on the Ark. I'll just fashion one up right quick on a larger scale. It should be ready by the time you two need to 'charge."

Jazz was not deterred. "And our-" Prowl shifted uncomfortably, and the saboteur's next word was slightly higher than usual, "duties?" He rebooted his vocalizer to steady his voice. Really, this was just the perfect time for _that_ fragging emotion to come creeping up. It had obviously brought him _nothing_ but trouble, he wouldn't even had been in this mess if it weren't for that stupid compulsion to keep Prowl out of harm's way, a completely illogical (and now he was starting to _sound_ like the fragger)--

"You both might not be able to be on active field duty, but there are plenty of other things that you are perfectly capable of doing." Ratchet rolled his shoulder struts. "Now, if you are finished...?" Jazz, out of excuses, remained silent. Prowl hadn't spoken since his earlier query and seemed determined to keep his vocalizer muted. Which might be for the best, Jazz mused; hearing the tactician's voice in his ear might have given him _ideas_, and that would have lead to nothing short of a disaster.

"Get out of my medbay," Ratchet demanded. "I'll let you know as soon as we've made any headway."

The two magnetized Autobots got up from the med berth (with _no_ help from their audience, who failed to stifle sniggers--Jazz would remember that) and awkwardly made their way out of the medbay. Once they exited and the doors cycled shut behind them, they looked at one another.

"So," Jazz started.

"So," Prowl echoed.

There was silence for a few breems. Jazz hated silence. Silence meant that no one was talking, and everyone always expected _him_, easy going, chill, all around good guy Jazz to fill those silences before they got awkward, including Jazz himself. Because if he didn't start talking, something he would really _really_ regret would come out of his vocalizer and Prowl would look at him with disgust or even _pity_, and Jazz could handle annoyance, even extreme dislike, but never pity. So he talked.

"Prob'ly you should run a few more battle simulations," Jazz commented snidely, "'cause if you had before, we wouldn't even _be_ in this situation."

Prowl scoffed, something relieved in the sound (though Jazz was probably just imagining it). "It was hardly _my_ actions that got us in this situation. I had everything under control, then you had to-"

Jazz interrupted. "Oh, sure, 'everything under control,' is _that_ what you call bein' in direct line of fire of Megatron's latest mega weapon?"

"I refuse to lower myself to your level, Jazz," Prowl said snippily. "If we are going to get through this, we have to _work together_." At the last two words, Prowl subtly jerked his left hip strut into Jazz' thigh. What was probably meant to be a snide action caused Jazz's equilibrium program to go haywire (and not in a necessarily _bad _way), and the smaller black and white lost his balance. In an attempt to stay upright, Jazz tried to windmill his arms, which were still connected to Prowl's chest, and the two went crashing down to the ground.

After the dust settled, Jazz heard a barking laugh from inside the medbay and groaned.

Oh yeah, this was going to go _fantastically_.

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I'm editing chapter two, so it should be up here soon. Reviews are greatly appreciated. ;)


	2. A Series of Awkward Events

**Word Count:** 1,053

**AN:** Some time, but not much, has passed (they haven't hit the recharge berth yet). Our favorite black and whites have come to a tentative truce in order to get some work done. I tried to write that scene, but the mechs refused to cooperate. Also, quite a bit of time had passed in between when the first and second chapter were written. Fair warning. :)

* * *

"So."

Silence.

"How're we gonna do this?"

Grunt.

"I mean...I'm me. You're…_you_. And we're, yanno, stuck to each other."

Noncommittal noise.

"And then there's the greater issue."

Shift.

"The space monkeys."

Grunt.

"Terrifying space monkeys. Make quite a mess when they get loose."

Hmph.

"Yep."

Silence.

"So."

Grunt.

"You aren't listening to a word I'm saying, are you."

Noncommittal noise.

Jazz pulled a moue of dissatisfaction (yes it was a _moue of dissatisfaction_, and if anybot called it a _pout_ he would slag them) and rested his forehead on Prowl's shoulder. "No, you're not," he answered himself. Prowl didn't even bother making a noise to tell Jazz how uninterested he was in carrying on a semi-pleasant conversation while in probably the most awkward position in the history of _ever._

Jazz had been in more _uncomfortable_ positions, yes. In fact, this position wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that Prowl tolerated Jazz's presence at the best of times. Or for the exact positioning of their various limbs.

Jazz's mouth twisted in contemplation. His legs, which were straddling Prowl's lap, began swinging in the air. Prowl made a strangled sound and then fell into silence.

'Well,' Jazz thought, 'if he's not gonna pay attention to me, and I can't do any work myself...might as well entertain myself.'

He was still for a moment before he began pulling his hands, magnetized to Prowl's chestplates, a small distance away from their spot. They came about 6 inches out and then began shaking with the force of the polarization, before snapping back to their original position. The hand stuck to Jazz's aft twitched, but Prowl didn't say anything. So Jazz did it again, this time attempting to pull his hands out a bit further. He succeeded for about two minutes (during which Prowl became mysteriously tense and made yet another strangled sound) before his hands snapped back even harder than before. The sound seemed to echo in the silent office, and Jazz couldn't help but cringe. There was a cracking sound, and then Prowl's hand on Jazz's aft actually clenched, as if the tactician had tried to make a fist. Then, Prowl _finally_ turned his head to look at the mech straddling him.

Jazz hadn't moved his head from its position on Prowl's shoulder, so their faces were now uncomfortably close. There was a silence of a different sort, now—one that Jazz wasn't sure he wanted to break.

"Is there something you _need_, Jazz?" Prowl murmured and the husky tone to his words made something in Jazz's servos shiver.

"Well…" Jazz started. _Sure_, there were a lot of things he needed. Like right now, Jazz wouldn't mind it if Prowl moved his head just a little closer so he could see if his lips really tasted as good as they looked...

'_Wait just a klik--what!?' _Jazz jerked his head back and forth in emphatic "no," hoping that his gross but momentary lapse had gone unnoticed by Prowl.

Prowl seemed to follow Jazz's head, drifting a little closer. "Jazz," he said. The saboteur's intakes skipped.

"…Prowl?" he asked lowly. Both mechs sat still, so close that if one of them leaned forward, their lips would brush.

The tone indicating someone was waiting at the door to Prowl's office chimed. Jazz and Prowl jumped back from one another, resulting in a few moments of unbalance leading Prowl to grasp at the desk in front of him with his free hand. The data pad he was holding fell to the crowded surface.

Prowl turned his head toward the door and, in a harsh tone, said, "Enter."

Jazz looked at the data pad which Prowl had been holding. There was a crack in it, fissures breaking out from where Prowl had been holding it. Before Jazz could ruminate on why the data pad was suddenly broken, the door opened and Ironhide stepped in, a stoic mask in place.

"Yes, Ironhide?" Prowl fairly growled, and Jazz turned as much as he could to face the other mech.

Ironhide's lips twitched, but he admirably kept a straight face. "I was just checkin' in, seein' how work was goin'."

Jazz quirked an optic ridge. "Riiiight. An' you've done this in the past…how many times?"

Prowl's mouth turned down on one side. "Indeed."

Jazz almost fell to the floor in shock. Prowl, agreeing with something he said outside of work? Well, he would have almost fallen to the floor if he wasn't stuck in this awkward position. With Ironhide pretty much _leering _at them. At least it wasn't Optimus Prime leering at them. Not that _Prime_ would leer, or rather, he probably would, but his face mask would hide it. Sneaky fragger.

Ironhide could no longer keep a straight face; he smirked. "Okay, maybe I was sent t' make sure y'all hadn't up and killed each other yet." Seeing the decidedly Not Amused looks on the second and third in command, he quickly added, "An' I can see yer doin' just fine. So. I'm just gonna…" He looked at Prowl, and then Jazz, his smirk growing into a full blown slag eating grin, "Git outta here and let Prime know everything's _just_ peachy!"

Ironhide quickly turned to leave but paused in the doorway. The reason became clear as Sideswipe poked his head into the office, whipped up a camera, took a shot, and then disappeared, his cackles ringing throughout the halls of the Ark. As soon as Sideswipe was gone, Ironhide bolted, throwing a hasty, "Bye!" over his shoulder before the door closed behind him.

There was silence for a few moments before Jazz chanced a look up at his current chair. Prowl was staring blankly at the closed door, his mouth slightly agape. Jazz couldn't help it. He snickered. And then his snickers turned into giggles. Which turned into full out laughter.

Prowl rebooted his optics and then looked down at the mech sprawled on his lap, helpless with laughter. The tactician could not stop a smile from curling his lips, or even a few chuckles from escaping his vocalizer. "I suppose this situation is highly…unusual from an outside viewpoint."

Jazz stopped laughing long enough to rest his forehead on Prowl's shoulder again, looking up at him as he responded, "'Unusual'? Prowl, I'm practically giving you a lap dance while you're working."

Prowl opened his mouth to respond when the door chime rang again. Prowl frowned, muttering about madhouses and bots actually having _work _to do, before sighing out, "Enter."

Bluestreak hurried in, two cubes of energon in his hands. "Hey guys!" He greeted enthusiastically. "I was in the rec room when Ratchet walked in and grabbed me by the doorwing—I really don't like it when he does that, but he's Ratchet, so I figure it's better not to complain because he could probably do something a lot worse than that to me—and told me to bring you all some energon. I didn't put up a fight because I wanted to see how you two were doing—I was really worried when you all got blasted with that Ultra Magnetizer Whatchamacallit Doodad, I'd be really sad if anything happened to either of you." He stopped, having already set the cubes on Prowl's desk within easy reach.

"Thank you, Bluestreak," Prowl said warmly. Jazz nodded and grinned.

"Yeah, thanks Little Boy Blue."

Bluestreak looked up at his two superior officers with a smile on his face. "Oh, it's no problem. You both do everything you can to help me and the other Autobots, it's the least I can do. I figure we have to help each other out. I mean, look at you two—the only reason you're stuck this way is because you both were trying to get the other out of harm's way," Bluestreak continued on, not noticing the suddenly stiffened postures of the magnetized mechs. "Really, that's awesome. Care and concern at its finest. I know I'd do the same for 'Jack and I hope he'd do the same for me. Well, I have to be off, I've got long range patrol and I want to get out on time!" Bluestreak gave a last grin and a wave, and then was gone.

Jazz risked a side glance at Prowl's face and was unsurprised to see the stiff, emotionless features there. Attempting to end the uncomfortable silence, Jazz reached for an energon cube, only to have his hand snap back to Prowl's chestplates. He let out a frustrated grunt and Prowl made an undistinguishable noise.

"Prowl," Jazz ventured, "I think you're gonna have t' help me out here."

Prowl dropped his gaze down to the cubes on his desk, then Jazz, and then the cubes again. "You mean feed you," he monotoned.

Jazz nodded. Prowl made a strangled sound and leaned forward, ignoring Jazz's protests of being squished, and banged his head on his desk.

'Yep,' Jazz thought resignedly from his position between Prowl and the desk, 'Most awkward position in the history of _ever_.'

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**AN: **Thanks for all of the lovely reviews--I'm glad that this is proving interesting and amusing for you! Reviews are awesome, and let me know what I'm doing right or need to work on.

Thanks for reading! :D


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